


An Alien Named Mercutio Part 2

by vinniebatman



Series: An Alien Named Mercutio [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Darcy Lewis, BAMF Darcy Lewis, BAMF Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis is the fandom bicycle and I love it, Darcy Lewis-centric, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinniebatman/pseuds/vinniebatman
Summary: In the hands of the Avengers (well, Tony), Skurge has own up to his past.  And 8,000 miles away, Darcy has to figure out what the hell just happened.  Jane agrees that this is the second worst missed connection.





	An Alien Named Mercutio Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Getting into Skurge’s mind has been a challenge for me. I have created a backstory for him, as well as motivations and intentions, but capturing those emotions has been a struggle. But as I’ve explored and worked to understand him, I heard the song “From Eden” by Hozier again, which I think captures his mindset, so I've included some of those lyrics.

##  Chapter 1

 

_ “Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago / Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on it's sword / Innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know / ... I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door.” _

 

As kind as she was beautiful, Darcy Lewis was a woman unlike any Skurge had ever met.  And though it was difficult to see the shape of her body beneath the much-needed layers she wore, he could still see the entrancing curve of her waist leading to the flare of her hips.  She was effortlessly enticing, and Skurge  _ wanted _ .  He had dreamt of kissing her, touching her.  Of making love to her and making her laugh. Of waking up with her in his arms.

Had the smell of  _ seiðr  _ not been so wholly absent from her scent, he would thought she’d cast a spell.  And perhaps she had, but it had required nothing more than her.  Even amid the wealth of simple kindnesses shown him over the past days, Darcy stood out from the others.  Her small hand had felt so right in his, and she had been utterly trusting in his embrace. He could clearly recall how soft her skin had been as she had smiled up at him, her scent so sweet and heartbeat soothing.

But as the Man of Iron’s craft lifted off the ground, Skurge’s stomach turned.   Though the vessel moved smoothly enough through the weakening storm, he felt ill.  Even though Darcy had smiled at him as he’d left, it had been a sickly, wary thing. Her smiles always seemed so wide, showing the small gap in her teeth as her eyes danced with joy.  It was a breathtaking sight. But that last smile lingered in his mind, so dim and lifeless. 

_ Afraid.  Of course she fears The Executioner.  And she’ll hate you when she learns what you’ve done. _  His skin prickled with phantom cold as something  _ squeezed _ in his chest.  For five days, Darcy had been a source of warmth and joy.  Now, she was another in a series beautiful moments ruined by his presence.  His throat ached, his unhappiness knotting in his stomach, twisting until his fingers nearly trembled with a sudden burst of anguished rage.  He wanted to scream, to rip apart the craft with his own hands.  _ What I ripped this craft apart and fell?  Would that finally be enough to kill me? _  His eyes darted about the small craft, looking at the men who sat quietly.  No; he wouldn’t condemn these men to death for his own weaknesses. And he’d learned long ago that screaming did nothing.  

Instead, using skill born out of centuries of practice, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  He focused instead his heartbeat, then on the heartbeats he could hear inside the craft; some hearts were faster, some slower.  Beyond that, he could  _ feel _ the winds of the storm as the craft soared beyond the clouds.  As his mind and heart calmed, another thought began circling:  _ the witch is watching _ .   

She was seated across from Skurge, facing him.  He could feel her eyes upon him, her  _ seiðr _ brushing against his mind, gentle, yet curious and searching.  Her  _ seiðr _ was powerful and left a sweet, metallic taste behind.   It was fresh and kind, so unlike Hela’s.  Each blade and spear Hela had conjured, including the axe she’d given him, had reeked of Hela’s  _ seiðr _ , dark and foul like old blood.  Her power was stained with countless millennia of cruelty and malice, the scent so potently foul that he had tasted in on their first meeting.  She was death.  _ And still, you followed her. _

Shifting in his seat, Skurge opened his eyes and glanced about the craft; the guards seemed equally uncomfortable in the witch’s presence, their bodies subtly angled away from her.  Their eyes would dart over to her before looking away, fearful of gaining her attention. He could sense her power, but for all the arrogance she carried herself with, it was belied by the nervous thread in her scent.  He would wager that for all her ability, she was still young. But at least with her  _ seiðr _ , he wouldn’t have to tell them what he’d done.

“It is better if you say it.”

Skurge looked up and met the witch’s gaze.  She leaned toward him, eyes bright against the black fabric of her mask as she spoke.  “I have also hurt people. I have done things that I regret.” 

The witch looked down at her hands.  Red  _ seiðr  _ blossomed, swaying above her palms.  “When you confess, it is… a relief.”

Skurge looked back down at his hands.   _ Where would you start? _  He could recall the feel of Hela’s axe in his hands.   And thinking of Hela’s axe brought to mind his first axe.  That axe had been a “gift” as well. He could vividly recall the feel of it in his hands, all those centuries ago, bringing to mind the wrongs he had committed for a false love.  Regardless of his hesitation to wield either weapon, both had fit perfectly in his grip. Fighting, it seemed, was the only thing he excelled at. Perhaps he had been created for the sole purpose of causing bloodshed.

Over the past centuries, it had been easy to ignore those thoughts, to simply play his role and disregard the softer desires of his heart.  And for centuries, none had tried to see him as anything other than a tool. But these humans, they tried to see more to him, to see him as something other than a killer.  Perhaps that was why he couldn’t force Darcy from his mind.  _ Liar _ , his mind whispered. _  You love her.   _

He shivered, veins suddenly filled with ice; the warmth of those memories falling away, her sweet smile replaced by the thin, wary grimace she’d given him only moments ago.   _ It is what you deserve.  First you were Amora’s executioner, then Hela’s.  Death is all you offer.  _ A sharp ache rose at the back of his throat, and for the first time since he’d walked away from Amora, he wanted to weep.  

“I am not a good man,” he finally choked out, his fists clenched as tightly as he could.

Other than the sound of the Man of Iron speaking in a hushed voice to some… being he called “Friday,” the craft was again silent.  He could feel the witch’s eyes on him. Soon she would know, they would all know what he had done. That notion set his his heart pounding, panic hovering at the edges of his mind.  It would have been far kinder if he’d died on the Bifrost. 

Beside Skurge, one of the guards cleared his throat before speaking.  “Well, I’m no lawyer, but have you really done anything illegal here on Earth?” 

Skurge frowned, the question interrupting his panic.  He considered his actions of the past days. “I broke the door,” he finally said.  “And I hurt the one called Church.”

The guard beside him scoffed, then removed his scarf and hat, revealing a soft-faced man with downturned eyes and dark, fluffy hair.  “Eh, the door doesn’t really matter; it’s covered by the maintenance budget. And from what the boss said, Church was kind of asking for it, so, you know.” The guard shrugged and gave Skurge a friendly smile before continuing.

“As for anything you did in Asgard, well, I don’t exactly know what the diplomatic situation is, but I’m pretty sure we can’t prosecute you for stuff you did on another planet.”

Frowning, Skurge looked back down at his clenched hands.   _ Traitor _ , his mind taunted.  “And if I deserve punishment?”

“Uh, well….”  The guard trailed off.

“Then your memory will be your punishment,” the witch said.

“That’s a good point, Wand—”  The guard’s voice cut off. He cleared his throat before continuing.  “That’s a good point, woman whose identity I don’t technically know.”

The witch let out soft chuckle.

“But she’s right,” the guard continued.  “Your memory will be your punishment. Which is a pretty terrible punishment. I’ve done stuff… nothing really bad, just dumb stuff.  But even years later, I still get so damn embarrassed. Like when my brother got married ten years ago, it was a really big deal; you know, church wedding, big reception, and hundreds of pictures by this really good photographer.  Anyways, my sister-in-law sent out framed photos to everybody; I even put mine up in my office. Then one day, Maria, this woman I work with, hell of a lady, stops and looks at it, then looks at me and goes, ‘you know your fly is down in this picture, right?’”

The witch let out a nasal laugh, chuckling into her hand.

Skurge frowned as he pictured a horse fly; it made no sense.  “Fly?” he echoed. 

The man leaned back and gestured to his groin.  “Yeah, fly, the zipper? My shirt was sticking out the whole time; white shirt, black pants.   _ Everyone _ in the family and wedding party got a picture showing my open fly.  No one notice for ten years, but once my brother noticed, he told  _ everyone _ .  It was pretty embarrassing.” 

The witch’s chuckle transformed into a full laugh, a sweet sound that felt far too young for one so powerful.

“I also, what’s the word, ‘mansplained’?” the man continued.  “Yeah, mansplained…. You guys know that word? It’s when a guy thinks he automatically knows more than a woman so he starts talking when he should really just shut up.  Anyways, I mansplained fighting to the Black Widow, who is literally the best fighter I have ever seen. I talked down to her, and then she kicked my ass. Easily. Like it was nothing to her.  That was just… humiliating. But I definitely deserved it. And I learned a valuable lesson.”

Skurge still wasn’t wholly certain what “mansplained” really meant, but he could hear - and smell - the man’s embarrassment.  

“We’ve all made mistakes, some of us only small stuff,” the guard continued.  His gaze flickered over to the witch before turning back to Skurge. “But like I said, we can’t toss you in the hoosegow for stuff you might have done on another planet.  So what really matters is what you do now.”

Skurge’s mind fell silent, the worry and guilt temporarily abating.   _ A fresh beginning.   _ The notion of starting over, of having a chance to be someone else, he’d never thought such a thing was possible.  For the first time in ages, he felt hopeful. The guard beside him extended his hand in greeting.

“So, you’re name’s Skurge, right?” he asked.  Skurge nodded, slowly reaching out to take the man’s hand and shaking it as he’d seen other humans do.  

“Yes, I am Skurge.”  

The man smiled up at him.  “Well, nice to meet ya, Skurge.  The name’s Happy Hogan.”

* * *

 

Despite her nausea, Darcy kept eating her oatmeal, swallowing bite after bite while Jane ate her bagel.  Darcy’s head was killing her, her brain throbbing in time with her heartbeat as she took another drink of coffee.  After the quinjet had taken off, she’d felt like a puppet with its strings cut. As much as she’d wanted to just curl up with Jane, Jane and David hadn’t seen each other for a week and a half.   The scientist and security guard had been in some strange version of a relationship for two months, and the heart eyes being displayed on their reunion had been too adorable for words. So, instead of taking up Jane’s offer of company, Darcy had waved them off and headed back to her room to try and get some sleep. 

Yet, even exhausted as she’d been, Darcy had only tossed and turned, periodically dozing off for a few minutes at a time until her alarm had finally gone off.  Everytime her thoughts had drifted in the dark, all she would see was the way Mercutio ( _ Skurge _ , she reminded herself,  _ Skurge the fucking Executioner _ ) had seemed to just… shrink once his real name had been revealed.  The expression on his face as he’d glanced back at her, so utterly dejected, just wouldn’t leave her.  It reminded her of Baker’s sad face whenever she caught him going through the garbage. Stifling a groan, she pushed her breakfast tray to the side and dropped her head onto the table with a heavy  _ thunk _ .  

_ Ow. _ _ Stupid, sexy alien. _

“You okay, Darce?” Jane asked.

Darcy lifted her head and forced a smile.  “I’m fine; just really fucking tired.”

Jane pursed her lips and frowned.  Setting down her tablet, she crossed her arms and rested them on the table, leaning forward.  “Bullshit; or, you know, half bullshit. Part bullshit. So just bull, I guess. Or shit. Spill, Lewis.” 

Darcy glanced about.  They were in the corner of the dining room, the nearby tables empty.  Wrapping her hands around her coffee mug, she mirrored Jane’s pose, leaning forward until their faces were only inches apart.  “Okay, so there are  _ other _ things involved.”

“Sad things?”

“Yeah, some sad things.  And some confused things.”

Jane nodded, brow furrowed.  It was one of Darcy’s favorite things about Jane; the scientist devoted herself to those issues that mattered to her.  For the most part, it was science. But there were a select handful of people who were given the same consideration, evidenced by that thoughtful frown.  

“Why are you sad?”  Jane paused. “Well, aside from the obvious fact that your tall drink of alien hotness is gone.” 

“I dunno."  Darcy begin picking a chip in the coffee mug.  "I mean, I feel sad that he’s gone, but I also just feel  _ bad _ .”  

Jane made a thoughtful hum, patiently waiting for Darcy to continue.  

“It’s — did you see the look on his face when Wanda said his name?”

“You mean ‘Skurge the Executioner’?”  Jane wrinkled her nose. “And no, I didn’t see his face.”

“Too busy canoodling with David?”

“Maybe,” Jane said, her breezy tone contrasted by the sudden red in her cheeks.  “What did his face do?”

“Remember that time in London when your notes fell on the floor and Baker ate them and got busted?”

“Yeah?”

“ _ That  _ was his expression.”

Jane’s face crumbled, lips pouting as her face scrunched up in worry.  “Aw, no.”

“Yeah.  He just looked like he felt like scum.  Lower than scum.”

“Like the stuff that scum eats to become scum?”

“Yeah.  It was just….  Everytime I think about it, it feels like I’m being sucker punched.  I feel sick.” 

“Well, that’s obviously because you are the nicest person to ever nice, Darce.  You’re pretty empathetic toward most people.”

“Yeah, I guess.  But I just feel crappy, and not just because I got next to no sleep last night."

Jane tilted her head, her eyes shrewdly studying Darcy.  She was looking closely, and probably seeing more than Darcy was ready to discuss.  “You know, we don't really have to  _ have _ something in order to mourn it’s loss.  Especially when that something is the devoted attention of a super-hot guy.  And it happened so quickly; there was hardly a chance to get used to it, but you still did.  And then it was gone. So not only do you miss what you had, but what you  _ could _ have had.  If anyone can understand that, it’d be me.”

Grinning wryly, Jane arched an eyebrow, causing Darcy to huff out a laugh.  

“Yeah, I guess you would.”   Licking her lips, Darcy leaned closer and whipered.  “Is it possible to fall in love in five days?” 

“Well, not love-love, but pre-love?  Definitely. I mean, it happened to me in, what, three days?  So yeah, totally possible.”

“Pre-love?”

Jane rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, pre-love. I think you have to really know someone before it becomes love-love.  But pre-love is so powerful because everything in your brain gets excited, your chemicals and hormones go into overdrive.  Everything is new and there is a universe of possibilities. It’s a huge rush. So don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re allowed to feel crappy because of the second-worst missed connection in history.”

“Behind you and Thor?”

“Oh yeah.  At least Mercutio’s on the same planet as you.”  

Even as exhausted and sad as she was, Darcy could feel herself grin.   _ Someone just earned herself an upgrade on her Chrismukkah present. _  “Jane, have I ever told you that I love you and that you’re the best friend I’ve ever had?” 

Jane grinned wide, her cheeks flushing.  “I think so, but I do like to hear that.”  

In spite of her exhaustion and sadness, Darcy smiled wider.  “Well, let’s go, Janie. We should really go see what readings we got last night after all the frequency adjustments we made to the antenna.”

Jane’s eyes glazed over as she thought of her of new data.  After a few seconds of silence, the scientist blinked rapidly, clearing her thoughts.  She narrowed her eyes, her intent gaze never wavering from Darcy’s face.

“Fine, we’ll go do science,” Jane declared.  “But I reserve the right to bring up my concerns again; best friend’s prerogative.” 

“Agreed.”  

* * *

 

The craft stopped once, several hours into the journey.  They remained on the ground just long enough for the witch to leave, and then were back in the air just a moment later.  After that, the majority of the guards nodded off to sleep in the dark quiet, including Happy. Lacking anything to keep his attention, Skurge had followed suit, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle before crossing his arms.  Dropping his head to his chest, he allowed himself to doze, never straying far from consciousness, but less aware of time’s passage. He didn’t fully rouse himself until the craft slowed dramatically. 

Once the craft stopped, the rear door opened, revealing a large, cavernous structure filled with similar aircraft and multiple armed guards.  These guards were all soldiers, carrying themselves with a ready tension that spoke of battle experience. It was only then that Stark emerged from the front of the craft, his armor gone. 

“All right, big guy, let’s go,” he said, striding out of the craft.  “We’ve got a lot to discuss.” 

Running suddenly seemed an appealing option.  But alone in a strange world at an unknown location?  There wasn’t much of a choice. Skurge stood and followed Stark out, quickly catching up with the smaller man’s rapid steps toward a metal door across the room.  As they approached, the door split in the middle and the halves slid away, revealing a small compartment. He followed, joining Stark in the compartment, the man called Happy joining them a moment later.  The doors slid shut and the compartment lurching, moving downward. 

Seconds later, the doors opened into a long, grey hallway, lined with closed doors.  Only one door at the far end of the corridor was open, a lean, dark-haired woman standing in the doorway with a data tablet her hand.  

“Please, join me, Mr. Skurge,” she said.  

He glanced at Happy and Stark, who merely nodded.  Though she was dressed in what appeared to be standard Midgardian garb, the woman wore it like a suit of armor.   _ A warrior to interrogate a warrior. _  Squaring his shoulders, Skurge marched down the corridor and into the room.  It was grey and windowless, with only a metal table and two chairs inside. As he sat in the chair furthest from the entrance, the woman shut the door and seated herself across from him.  Though she had yet to speak again, her bearing greatly reminded him of the Lady Sif.  _ I could defeat her if I needed to.  But she would not make it easy. _

She was on her small data tablet, unconcerned with his assessing glower and crossed arms.  She smelled of curiosity and suspicion, tinged with the acrid scent of the gun she carried.  

“My name is Maria Hill, and I’ll be asking you some questions,” she finally said, raising her steely blue gaze to meet his.  “But before we begin, would you like something to drink?” 

Skurge paused, then shook his head.

“Are you hungry?”

Again, he merely shook his head.  

Something flickered in her eyes.  “Where did you get that sweater?”

Skurge frowned.   

“I’m only asking out of curiosity,” she said, smiling gently.  “I’d heard that you had to borrow those pants, and they’re obviously too small.  So I’m just wondering where you got clothing that actually fits you.”

Despite the smile, there was nothing kind or soft about her.  The question was a trap, somehow.  _ But how? _  After a moment of silence, her eyes never waving from him, he finally answered.  “Inge-Lise.” 

Her smile turned satisfied.  “She made it for you?”

He shrugged.  The small woman had, in fact, made it for him.  She had told him so, smiling sweetly as she’s pushed it into his hands.  Just the memory of it made his chest ache.

Maria Hill nodded, her eyes darting down to her tablet and back up again.  

“Now, what is your name?”

Skurge exhaled sharply, his skin prickling with irritation.  “You know my name.” 

“Would you be so kind as to repeat it?”

He nodded once.  “I am Skurge.”

She tapped the smooth surface of her tablet, causing it to light up, her fingers dancing across the screen.  “And your surname?”

“Einerson.”

The small audio mechanism in Hill’s ear crackled to life, and Skurge could hear the soft, lilting voice of Stark’s being, Friday:  _ “he’s lying.” _

Skurge glanced up at Hill with a frown.  One of her dark eyebrows arched as she eyed him closely, and he dropped his gaze back down to the table.  He heard her fingers tapping on the tablet. Seconds later, Friday said two more words into Hill’s ear:  _ “Darcy Lewis.” _

At Darcy’s name, he looked up once again, meeting Hill’s pleased smirk.  

“A typical Asgardian wouldn’t be able to hear that,” she noted. 

_ A trick.   _ Skurge ground his teeth together and looked away.

“What is your surname?” she repeated.

He remained silent.  

“Very well,” Hill said.  “I’ll just put down ‘The Executioner.’”

“No.”  The word escaped him before could think.  Skurge’s heart lurched as he took a deep breath. 

“Forgive my curiosity, Executioner, but names tell a lot about a person, and humans use them for keeping records.  Thor is the son of Odin, so he is called ‘Odinson.’ What is your surname?”

A maelstrom of shame and rage roiled in his chest as he clenched his jaw.  “To have a family name, I would need to have a family. I have none,” he ground out.

The witch, Friday, said nothing.  But as the silence stretched out, something in Hill’s eyes changed.  She didn’t appear kinder or softer, but there was a sort of understanding in their depths.

“Very well; ‘Skurge’ it is.  Tell me, Skurge, how did you end up on Earth?”

He shrugged.  “It was by the Bifrost, but I don’t know how.”

“What is the last thing you remember before waking up on Earth?”

“Dying.”

Hill nodded once, unsurprised by his answer.  “You were stabbed through the heart?” He frowned, but she continued.  “Your armor and clothing had a large puncture over your heart.”

Hill’s eyes never wavered from him, but at his continued silence, she sighed.

“Look, I need to know what happened, we need to know if we can even trust you, Skurge.  Keeping silent will only make this take longer than it needs to.” 

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he dropped his eyes to the surface.  “The more I say, the less you will trust me.”

Surprise spiked in Hill’s scent.  “That may be; but we need to know.  Please.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded.

“Thank you.  Now, where is Thor?”

“I don’t know.”

“I presume Asgard?”

He shook his head and looked up.  “I don’t… I think Asgard is gone.”

Hill’s face paled, Stark’s voice shrieking through her ear piece. 

_ “Gone?”  _ Stark yelled.   _ “How can it be gone?” _

Skurge dragged his hand over his head.  “There was so much happening, and much I don’t know.  I thought I was dying. I couldn’t move, my heart had stopped.  But my heart was trying to beat. I heard fighting, I heard Thor battling Hela—.”

“Hela?”

He nodded.  “Hela, Odin’s daughter.”

“Thor has a sister?”  Hill’s eyes widened a small fraction, betraying her shock.  After a moment, she set her tablet on the table and sighed heavily.  “This is a long story, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

Hill took another breath and sighed again.  “Well, I missed lunch. You hungry?”

* * *

 

Data was good; data was a beautiful, neutral stream of information that required sorting and correlating.  Darcy loved data; especially on days when she didn’t really want to think about anything besides work. It was the perfect combination of engaging and easy; something she had to pay attention to, but was also simple enough that she didn’t stress out.  Music blaring from her phone, time flew by until suddenly, Daniel was setting a lunch tray on her desk.

“Lunch time already?” she asked.

Jane lifted her head from the scattered electronics on her table, eyes blinking slowly.  “Lunch?”

“Yep; clam chowder,” Daniel offered with a grin.

Darcy pumped her fist in victory.  “Yes! I hate that canned stuff, but you know Inge-Lise goes all out on hers.”

“Yeah, it’s damn good,” he said.  “I would have eaten more, but, you know, she rations it carefully.”

“Yes, because she is a good and kind overlord, long may she reign,” Darcy quipped, taking a large bowl from the tray.  Daniel carried the other bowl over to Jane, then handed out water bottles and crackers. As the women began eating, Daniel leaned onto Darcy’s desk, eyeing her closely.  “Sooo…. How’s things, Lewis?”

_ Fuck. _  Darcy focused on her tasty lunch, ignoring him.

“She’s pining,” Jane stage-whispered.  “And not for the fjords.”

Darcy rolled her eyes.  At this point, she should have been annoyed with them.  But damn it, they were just so awesome.

“I’m fine,” she finally said after swallowing a mouthful.  “I mean, I’m super tired and my eyelid keeps twitching because of the tired, but I’m good.  Still have all my limbs and senses, just the one injury, so I’m good.”

Daniel and Jane started quietly at her.

“ _ Eehhhttt _ !” Daniel did a near-perfect imitation of a game show buzzer.  “Lies! You are a lying liar who lies, Lewis.”

“I concur,” Jane added, nodding solemnly.

“Okay, fine; I’m not fine.  I feel crappy. I feel scared.  And I feel relieved and sad, and I miss Meruc— damn it, Skurge, I miss Skurge.  And it’s just fucking weird, because this is always what was going to happen, but I just feel so....”

“Stupid?” Jane softly offered.

Giving a weak smile, Darcy nodded.  Jane nodded decisively, then bent down to dig around under her desk.  Daniel’s eyebrows arched as Jane mumbled to herself while cursing at the cords below.  Eventually, she re-appeared with her attache case in hand. As she started digging in the case, Daniel turned back to Darcy.   

“Alright; what am I missing?”

“One of the most sacred traditions of our friendship,” Jane intoned.  After a few more seconds, she let out a triumphant cry. “Ha ha! Gotcha!”

Jane pulled out a stick, about eleven inches long.  Bumpy with broken-off branches, sections of the stick were wrapped with small pieces of wire, some copper, some insulated with green, red, or yellow. 

“Okay, and this is…?” 

“The stupid stick,” Jane proudly declared.  “Perhaps my greatest contribution to this friendship.”

Darcy snorted, shooting Jane a displeased glare.  “I believe we agreed that your genius brain, which needed an intern, was your greatest contribution.  But the stupid stick is a close second.”

“And what the hell is ‘the stupid stick’?”

Taking another bite of her lunch, Jane left Darcy to answer.

“The stupid stick comes from New Mexico, and it is used for when you need to say some stupid shit, but you know it’s stupid. Like, you know what you’re feeling is just negative thinking that’s probably wrong and you’ll get yelled at for saying mean stuff about yourself, but you still just need to vent without being interrupted.”

“Okay,” Daniel said, nodding.  “Got it, good idea; may need to get one of my own for the security office.  So what’s the stupid, Darcy?”

Darcy sighed and let out a frustrated groan.  She held out her hand, and Jane tossed the stick to her.  Once she had it in hand, she began to fiddle with the wires.  “So, here goes. I feel all out of it right now. I mean, I didn’t sleep last night, so that’s probably part of it.  But I also feel dumb. I mean, I’m so gone on a guy I knew for  _ five _ days, and yes, Jane, I know you know how I feel.  But it feels so weird, and he was just so….”

“Sweet?” Jane suggested.

“Totally gone on you?” Daniel offered.

A small smile curled across Darcy’s mouth.  “Definitely that. But the whole time he was here, it all felt too good to be true.  So a part of me is almost relieved.”

Jane frowned.  “What? Why?”

Darcy twisted a piece of copper wire around her finger until it bit white on her pink fingers, staring at it as she tried to parse her emotions.  “A couple of things. I mean, have you ever feel like you’re constantly 5 seconds away from losing someone who is probably way too good for you?”

“Okay,” Daniel said slowly.  “Now I  _ really _ get the idea behind the stupid stick.  Why do you think that?” 

Unwinding the wire from her finger, Darcy tried to pull the words from her sleep-deprived mind.  “It was like a dream, kind of. Like, when you have a really amazing dream but then you wake up and you’re just sad to be in real life again.  That’s what it felt like. Like it was just this spell, and now it’s over. And I don’t think I’ll get it back.”

“That is a possibility,” Jane acknowledged softly.  

“And another thing is that we don’t know anything about him.  I mean, what if he’s, like, a space Nazi? He could be evil, and I’m just being all mushy about a terrible person.”  

“You can only judge someone based on the evidence you currently have,” Jane said.  “He didn’t  _ seem _ evil to us.  And if he did turn out to be evil, would you still feel the same way about him?”

Darcy wrinkled her nose.  “Probably not.”

“Well, don’t quote me on this,” Daniel said, leaning closer.  “But I  _ may _ have heard some gossip; with Avengers fucked up by the Accords, Stark may recruit him.  I’m pretty damn sure he’s not headed to a secret prison. That’s why they brought you-know-who down here; to see if he was evil.  So there's a chance that if he isn’t evil, he’ll end up being one of the good guys.” 

Darcy stared at her clam chowder, her appetite gone.  “I guess. But I don’t think that matters.   Sometimes, you’re friends with someone while you’re at work, but not outside of it.  The friendship is limited to that job at that time. It isn’t  _ real _ .  That’s how I feel about him.  Because this was our time, our only shot.”

“But you’ll probably see—” Daniel started. 

“I’ll see him again, I know.  But in the real world, surrounded by super sexy spy ladies who can kill someone with their pinky, and the models that throw themselves at Stark?” She scoffed.  “What we had was a limited engagement; one time only, not to be repeated in the real world. Because if he is a good guy, well, in my experience, brave, kind, sexy dudes who are that hot do not go for the schlumpy lab nerd.”

The words out, her insecurities and fears named and laid out, Darcy felt relief.  And sadness. Tears pricked at her eyes, her throat tight.  Her eyes still on the uneaten food, she heard Daniel coming closer as Jane began hopping.  Seconds later, she was wrapped up by two pairs of warm arms. As tears started to fall, she laughed.  “See? Stupid. I mean, it’s not like it’s a surprise, really. There are only a couple of way this could have played out.  I  _ knew _ what would happen.”  

Daniel and Jane squeezed tighter.   Frustrated not only with the situation but herself, Darcy let herself cry.   _ Stupid emotional rollercoaster. _  After a few minutes, the tears slowed as Jane pressed a kiss to her head.  

“So,” Daniel drawled, “can we yell at you now for being mean to yourself?”

* * *

 

While waiting for their food, Hill seemed to relax.  Of course, like the Lady Sif, Hill only  _ seemed _ to be at ease.  He’d wager she could be battle-ready at a moment’s notice.

“So, tell me, what did you think of Antarctica?” she finally said.

Skurge shrugged.  “It was cold.”

Hill let out a soft huff of laughter through her nose.  “Yes it is. I certainly don’t envy the personnel down there,” she said, smiling gently.  “How long were you out there before Darcy and Daniel found you?” 

He frowned. 

_ Cold.  That was the first Skurge knew once he awoke.  Sharp, unrelenting cold that would have killed even an Asgardian.  Every inch of his body was in agony from the cold, his skin fighting to warm and heal itself even as it continued to freeze, his eyelids coated in ice.  Every muscle screamed as frozen tissue cracked and broke as he forced himself to sitting. He panted against the pain, the cold rushing into his lungs and icing the delicate tissue.   _

_ Skurge coughed, tasting blood as his chest burned.  He forced his arm to his chest, where his bare hand landed on a torn area of his armor.  In that moment, it all rushed back. Hela, the battle, and the dark blade that had speared his armor and shattered his chest.  And as he’d died, the sounds of battle, of flames and destruction. Confused and surrounded by darkness, he steeled himself and forced his eyes open.  Though painful, it was a dull ache compared to the agony he felt from the rest of his body. He glanced about, finding himself in the shadow of a frozen, snow covered hill, boulders scattered about.  The sky was dark. Gritting his teeth, unable to even give voice to his pain, he forced himself to his feet. Looking down, he saw the scrolling mark of the Bifrost.  _

_ Exhausted, he staggered over to a group of boulders.   He collapsed between them, sheltered from the worst of the cold winds.  Drawing his knees to his chest, the world around him went black as he passed out. _

“Skurge?”  Hill’s voice drew him out of the memory.

“I don’t know; the sky was dark.  I moved between some boulders and slept, but I didn’t wake until I heard a machine.” He paused.  _ How much do they need to know? _  In an abundance of caution, he continued.  “And singing.”

“Singing?”

“Aye.” 

A smile pulled at Hill’s mouth.  “Well, that sounds more like Lewis than Taylor.”

Skurge smiled, a small moment of peace filling him.   _ Darcy. _  Hill’s eyes focused on him, studying him.  Just as it became uncomfortable, the door opened and Happy came in, carrying a tray of food he quickly set on the table.  He gave Skurge a small smile. “Hope you like the sandwiches; had the cafeteria make my favorites for you.” Nodding at Hill once, Happy turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

The sandwiches were thick, filled with sliced meats and cheeses.  Hill handed him a plate with two large sandwiches, taking a plate with a smaller serving for herself.  Skurge inhaled, scenting the food. While the contents were different from what he’d had on Asgard, he couldn’t smell anything false or chemical.  When she took a bite, Skurge followed suit. They ate in silence for a few moments.

“So,” Hill began, her voice calm and almost apologetic. “If this isn’t too personal, what are you?  We haven’t been able to get a DNA sample from you yet, but the initial tests from Dr. Zheng, along with your incredibly good hearing, indicate that you’re something other than Asgardian.”

Skurge shoved the last part of the first sandwich in his mouth.  It took some time to chew and swallow, giving him a moment to consider his answer.  

“I am part storm giant," he admitted.

Hill made a curious sound in the back of her throat.  “How did that happen?”

He shrugged.  “I was abandoned as a babe.  No one really knows where I came from.”

Hill nodded, taking a sip of her water.  “So, what about storm giants? Are they similar to frost giants?”

Skurge shrugged again.  “I know little of them; mostly how to kill them.”  

“Kill them?”

Skurge grabbed his second sandwich and nodded.  “Because I am both, I am stronger than an Asgardian.  But I am smaller, so I am much faster than a storm giant.  It makes fighting them easier.”

“That makes sense.  So, onto the hard questions.  You said a lot had happened. How did it all start?”

Frowning, he considered the situation.  “It began with Loki.”

One of Hill’s eyebrows arched in surprise.  “I thought he was dead.”

“We all did.  After Loki’s death, Odin sent Thor back to Midgard.  He then banished Heimdall and his sister, Lady Sif.”

“Why?”

“He said they were disloyal and made me guardian of the Bifrost.”

“Why you?”

Taking a bite of his sandwich, he pondered his words, how to best summarize all that occurred.  Swallowing, he continued his tale.

“Heimdall’s blade, Hofund, it holds a great deal of  _ seiðr _ .  It operates the Bifrost, but it chooses its master.  Because Heimdall was gone, the blade had to be moved by force, which required one stronger than an Asgardian.”

“Which was you.”

He nodded, returning his focus to his sandwich.

“What happened then?” Hill asked.

After finishing his bite, he answered.  “Some days ago, Thor returned to Asgard with the head of Sutur.”

Hill tapped at her tablet again.  “Our legends says that Sutur is a frost giant who will cause Ragnarok?”

“A fire giant.  But yes, they said he would bring Ragnarok and destroy Asgard.”  Skurge took another large bite, savoring the sandwich. He couldn’t truly enjoy it, trapped as he was discussing darker matters.  But the food was delicious. 

“What happened then?” she pressed. 

“When Thor met with Odin, he knew at once that it was truly Loki.”  Skurge paused, frowning. “I think that is why Heimdall was banished; he would have seen through the magic.  But Loki told Thor he had banished Odin to Midgard, so I opened the Bifrost to send Thor and Loki to your New City of York.”

“That explains the power signature,” Hill muttered.  She ate the last of her sandwich, eying Skurge’s confused frown as he ate.  “Our technology knows when the Bifrost opens on Earth. We saw that it activated in New York City and we have surveillance footage of Thor and Loki, but then they disappeared.  The next thing we knew, the Bifrost activated in Norway.”

He nodded.  “Yes, that was Loki, he called for the Bifrost.  But they did not return; Hela did.”

“And she is Odin’s daughter?”

“Yes.  But we did not know that.” The table before him seemed to fade as he pulled at the memories he’d pushed away for the past several day.  “She was very powerful. I have never seen power like that before.  She used dark  _ seiðr _ and conjured black blades from nothing.  Volstagg and Fandral were waiting with me on Thor’s command; as soon as she appeared, she conjured blades and killed them.”

“But not you?”

His stomach turned as he flushed with shame.  Pushing the half-eaten sandwich away, he crossed his arms and stared down at the table.  “I lied, told her I was a janitor. She thought me insignificant, and returned to Asgard.”  Skurge clenched his jaw, his throat growing tight as his stomach churned. “Once in Asgard, she fought….  It was like nothing I have ever seen. Conjuring blades and fighting, she killed them. All of them.”

“Who?”

“Asgard’s warriors, every one of them.”

His statement was met with silence.  Skurge looked up, and for the first time since meeting her, Maria Hill looked stunned and at a loss for words.  Clearing his throat, he forged on.

“She told me that long ago, she was Odin’s Executioner, his weapon.  She and Odin conquered the Nine Realms through violence, not peace as we were told.  But then Odin banished her.” 

“So how did she escape?”

“She never said.  But once freed, she wanted to conquer all lands she could.  She raised her army of the dead to aid in her plans."

 

"What happened after that?" 

In that moment, he was grateful for Hill's demeanor.  There was no pity, no judgment in her voice.  "She named me her executioner, and began planning.  But first she needed Hofund.”

“The sword?  To operate the Bifrost?”

“Aye.   She tried to use Gungnir, Odin’s staff. But it wouldn’t work for her.  It would not recognize her as the true ruler of Asgard.”

“So you retrieved the sword.” 

Skurge shook his head.  “While we were in the city, Heimdall returned and took Hofund.  We searched for it, but it was gone.”

“What then?”

He said nothing, his heart pounding as he considered the next part of his tale.  Hill’s tablet made a soft chiming sound.

“Are you alright, Mr. Skurge?” she asked, concern shading her scent.

He nodded.

“I only ask because your heart rate is spiking.”

“I am well,” he ground out.

“So what happened?” 

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled through pursed lips, his hands shaking as he kept his eyes down.  “After Hela attacked, many of the citizens of Asgard fled, but some remained.  Hela had me gather the remaining Asgardians before her. We -  _ she  _ \- thought that one of them would know where Heimdall had gone.”

“And?”

He took a shuddering breath.  “Hela told me to execute her will.  I threatened to execute one of them, a woman.  But no one would speak. So I raised my axe.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he could  _ see _ her, terrified and cowering on the ground, stinking of abject terror.  He had raised his axe, ready to strike….

“A man interrupted to give us Heimdall’s hiding place.  But it would have been better if he had not spoken.” 

“Why?

“I don’t understand many things, but I knew that she would kill so many more if she had the Bifrost.”

“Would you have killed the woman?”

Clenching his jaw, he nodded once.  The room was silent; he could hear her heart beating, slower than his panicked heart.  

When Hill spoke again, her voice carried no less authority, but it was softer.  

“What then?”

“The man told us, so we went to look for Heimdall.  But once we reached the old fortress, Hela was summoned to the throne room.  Thor had returned, and was helping the last of his people escape by the Bifrost.”

He looked up at Hill; she waited, watching him intently. 

“Hela sent me to guard the Bifrost with her soldiers.  But soon, Thor’s friend, the large green man—”

_ “Wait, green man?  Does he mean Banner?”  _ Stark screamed.   _ “Ask him—” _

“I was not given his name.  He was a man, then he jumped and became a tall, green giant.  Then Loki arrived with a vessel and other soldiers. The people boarded the ship, but then Hela joined the battle.  Thor followed her and he destroyed many of the dead soldiers.” 

“What did you do?”

He scoffed, disgusted.  “I hid, like a coward, and boarded the ship.”

Hill remained silent.  After a few moments, Skurge continued.  

“Hela conjured these… large spikes.  The drove into the ship, trapping it, and her dead soldiers started climbing into the ship.  There were children there, crying, holding fast to their mothers. They were innocent.  So I attacked the dead soldiers and broke the spikes. Then I leapt from the ship to keep Hela’s soldiers from getting in the ship again.  That was when Hela killed me.” 

“Well, tried to,” Hill added, an amused air to her voice.

“Yes; tried to.” He frowned, trying to recall those long, pained moments when his mind had wavered between life and death.  “I couldn’t breath, but I hear something. A roar, deep and powerful. And I smelled smoke. I could hear buildings being shattered, the crackle of flames.  I did not see what was happening, but it sounded like Asgard was being turned to rubble.” 

He looked up at Hill.  “That is the last thing I recall.”

“So, how do you think you ended up on Earth?”

He let out a bitter chuckle and shook his head.  “I don’t know.  Heimdall was on the ship, last I saw him.  Perhaps it was mistake.” Bracing his elbows on the table, Skurge dropped his head into hands.

He heard the scrape of Hill’s chair as he stood.  “Thank you for your honesty, Skurge.” She left the room, shutting the metal door behind her.  

His breath continued to shudder as anguish tried to turn to tears.   _ You are not worthy of tears. _

He looked up when the door opened, admitting Happy and the Man of Iron - Stark _. _  Happy and Stark looked tired, their clothing wrinkled, their eyes bruised with weariness.  But Stark, though dressed in standard Midgardian garb, still wore his glowing blue gauntlets.

“How long have I been in this room?” he asked.

Happy smiled at him. “Too long, man. Come on.  Between Hill’s marathon interrogation and the trip up here, you’ve been awake for….”  Happy glanced down at his watch. “Thirty-six hours.”

_ A coward I may be, but I not weak.   _ “I have gone longer without rest.”

Stark made a strange, snorting laugh.  “So have I. And it’s usually not good.  Let’s go.”

He stood and followed the men out of the room.  Once they cleared the thick, secured door at the top of a flight of stairs, they were in a large hall made of glass and steel.  His senses were flooded by noise and light flooded in through the windows. There was a quiet hum of machinery, and countless heartbeats.  Beyond that, he could hear water and the swaying of trees. It was an entirely different Midgard from the land he’d first awoken in. He drifted closer to the window and looked out.  Low buildings of similar design stretched around the main structure, surrounded by green hills and a forest in the early days of autumn. It was almost peaceful.

“So, what do you think of it?” Stark asked, joining him at the window.

Staring out at the sun that broke through the grey clouds, he shrugged.  “It is much less shiny that Asgard. But there is also far less gold.”

Stark chuckled.  “Christ, the more I hear about Odin, the more that son of a bitch sounds like Donald Trump.”  He patted Skurge’s shoulder once and moved away. “C’mon big guy, let’s get you to your room.”


End file.
